


Heir of Angels

by florafleur



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Possession, Pregnancy, Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florafleur/pseuds/florafleur
Summary: Darkness looms over the Shadow World now that the Greater Demon Lilith has broken free of Edom in a bid to resurrect her 'son', Jonathan. And while the Shadowhunters bend over backward to identify the Owl-faced demon attacking mundanes on the streets, Clary and Jace face the ramifications of their secret. As Jace becomes more and more disconnected from himself, the weight of Clary's wish will grow heavier on her shoulders. Especially after she discovers that she's going to bring a child into the chaos.The timing couldn't be worse...
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood/Raphael Santiago, Luke Garroway/Maryse Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Maia Roberts
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Nightmares

Chapter One

Nightmares

### ➰

  
  


Beneath the night, the city of Manhattan dazzled in all of its technicolor beauty, mirroring the blanket of glinting constellations above, and on the corner of Hester's Street, music filled up the Hunter's Moon.

The cozy bar was packed with a plethora of guests, Shadowhunter and Downworlder alike, all gathered in celebration; Valentine Morgenstern was gone, his defeat bringing with it newfound solace among the Downworld. Strings of bulb lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the establishment in a warm saffron glow–the Nephilim color of victory, and there was a peaceful ambiance all around as Vampires, Werewolves, Shadowhunters and Warlocks all clinked their champagne glasses together in triumph.

Observing everyone from his natural post at the bar, the celebrations roared around an exhausted Jace Herondale. To say he wasn't in a celebratory mood would not do the anxiety in his gut any justice. The events of the other night continued to plague his mind. Not to mention he was so bone-achingly tired that not even his stamina rune had proven to be particularly useful.

He had almost not bothered to show up tonight. But after Alec had practically cornered him with questions, Jace decided that he couldn't afford to arouse even a whiff of suspicion, not after he'd come so dangerously close to finding out the truth.

"For the last time, Alec. I didn't die," Jace had told him as he dragged his fingers through the tub of hair gel on his dresser. Alec had been standing by the door in Jace's room, arms folded and eyes burning with suspicion. "I came close to it, and maybe that's what you felt, but–"

"My Parabatai rune disappeared," he argued, pulling himself from against the wall. "You know perfectly well that the only way a Parabatai bond breaks like that is if the other's heart stops beating."

Jace sighed, working the gel into his hair. "I don't know what else to tell you. I have no idea why it happened, but as I said, Clary healed me somehow."

Alec cocked a doubtful eyebrow. "I understand that you guys have these special abilities, but I find it difficult to believe that they stretch as far as raising the dead. Not even lesser Angels have that power. Only Raziel was ever thought to..." He trailed off, the words dying on his lips as it suddenly dawned on him.

"Jace," he began, trepidatiously. "Please tell me she didn't use the wish."

Jace's hands paused in his hair. His eyes locked on his reflection as he brought them down. Biting back his panic, he turned away from the mirror and faced Alec. "No. It was all Clary," he lied.

Jace's pulse quickened as he began to piece together a believable explanation in his mind. "Valentine stabbed me with his dagger. The next thing I know, I'm waking up on the ground, Clary's hands are on my chest, right where the dagger had been. The pain I felt before I blacked out was gone. The cold too. It was as if...I don't know, like she was channeling the life back into me."

A momentary silence stretched out between them. Then, at last, Alec's scrutiny faltered. "She seriously has that ability?"

Jace gave him a meaningful look. "I wouldn't be standing in front of you right now if it hadn't been for her."

Finally, Alec nodded, flooding Jace with relief. Had he stuttered or messed up in any way, it would have put both Clary and Alec at risk. But Jace had a strong feeling his brother was just choosing to believe him over his own conclusion. For stupid was one thing Alec was not. He, like Jace, was all too aware of the implications of using Raziel's wish.

Though she didn't know it, Clary had broken the Accords. And as Head of the Institute, Alec would have a duty to report her to the Clave. Failing to do so would bring extreme repercussions.

And that, he could not allow.

His gaze swept over the clusters of people to land on a certain redhead. She was standing in the far corner chatting with Isabelle, their conversation concealed over the lively music playing from the Jukebox.

Jace had been keeping a close eye on Clary. Though the bruising on her cheek had been healed, iratzes couldn't do much as far as concussions went except take the edge off. He had suggested that she sit the party out and rest but she wouldn't hear any of it, stubborn as she was.

A smile graced his lips.

She laughed at something Izzy was telling her, an authentic Clary giggle that cut through the song and the surrounding chatter to find his ears. A sound that he hadn't heard in so long, not since he stole that bike from the seedy Vampire bar three years ago.

After everything they'd gone through to finally be together—the lies and the trauma, the mere thought of her being dragged off to the Gard made his chest feel painfully tight.

Knocking back the remaining beer in his glass, Jace tried to shove the notion out of his mind and was just about to order a second when he realized the tight feeling in his chest was more than just psychosomatic.

It was becoming more and more intense, building up gradually, like an invisible belt tightening around his ribs. Jace gasped, his panic climbing with the pain as it burned down his arms and clung to his legs, forcing him out of his stool.

He could barely hear the music now over the thrumming of his own pulse deafeningly loud in his ears. Breathing heavily, he made quickly for the door and stumbled out into the night.

Every muscle in his body was going into spasm.

He fell back onto a nearby bench, fighting for breath. Then, his vision frosted over until the bright headlights of passing cars faded to black and the sounds of the concrete jungle fell to complete silence. He couldn't see nor hear, all Jace could do was endure in a body that was boiling blood and rigid muscles.

He slipped off the bench and onto his knees, screaming in agony.

Then, with all the suddenness of a recoiling rubber band, the pain vanished and Jace's senses returned to him all at once, as if they'd never even been taken away.

Trembling in the wake of the aftershocks, a strong sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.  
  
  
  


### ➰

  
  
There was a tidal rhythm to her grief.

Most of the time the waters were calm, lapping gently at the surface of her mind, subtle and tolerable enough to get her through the day. Other times, Clary need only walk past a street performer singing one of Jocelyn's favorite songs and it was enough to send those gentle waves crashing relentlessly over her, drowning her in grief.

Nothing, however, provoked those waves like the night.

By day she had work and training to keep her distracted, but as soon as she put her head to the pillow at the day's end, she was at the mercy of her mind. A mind that tormented her sleep with images of her mom lying dead and mutilated on the floor, her bright green eyes that were once so gentle and full of love, glazed over, unfocused.

This time around, though, as Clary tossed and turned, her chest heaving and eyes darting rapidly beneath her eyelids—it was Jace who haunted her nightmares. Jace, dying by that lake. The color in his cheeks draining as blood pulsed through the cracks of their intertwined fingers.

And she could do nothing.

Freeing his stele from his weapon's belt, Clary dragged up his soaked shirt and activated his iratze. She even tried a blood-replenishing rune on the blank skin above his navel.

It was no use. The rise and fall of his chest went abruptly still.

Clary shook her head vehemently as she brought her shaking hand to his cheek, smearing blood that was livid red against his gray complexion.

It was all she could smell, all she could taste.

With a retch, she jolted awake, the sheets twisted around her legs.

Before she could catch her breath, her stomach gave another lurch, forcing her upright. Clary threw a hand over her mouth and scrambled out of bed, stumbling in the dark toward the en-suite.

Silver witch-light lit the bathroom automatically, striking her in the eyes like a white-hot knife. She barely made it in time, dropping to her knees as the contents of her stomach hit the water in the toilet with an unpleasant splash.

She gagged again and again. Her stomach heaving until stars danced across her vision and there was nothing left to bring up.

Clary slumped back down onto the floor and pressed her back up against the cool wall.

_He's fine. It's over_. _Jace is alive._

Clary waited until the nausea had fully ebbed before she got to her feet again. She went over to the vanity and tied her hair back, then dashed her face with a few palmfuls of icy water. After that, she attempted to brush away the coppery taste that somehow still lingered in her mouth.

By the time she trusted her stomach enough to leave the bathroom, it was gone 6:00 AM and she was already one step ahead of her phone's alarm.

Clary ran her stele over the iratze on her neck, sighing in relief as the throbbing in her head faded away. She had no idea how she ever endured headaches during her life as a mundane; Advil had nothing on iratzes.

Now all she needed was some breakfast to calm her grumbling stomach.

She dressed and covered up the dark circles under her eyes before wandering into the dimly-lit hallway, where the walls were lined with antique oil paintings.

As the elevator descended, her stomach dipped along with it, forcing her to cling to the handrail. The feeling subsided, however, when the elevator stopped and the doors rolled open, revealing to her the quiet first floor of the New York Institute.

She heard him before she saw him, exerted grunts followed by the sound of punches. The sound reverberated along the hallway leading to the training room.

Beneath the glow of the hanging lanterns, he pounded at a punching bag. Sweat glistening against his skin and clinging to the strands of hair that fell across his forehead. Behind him, the sunbeams streaming through the arched window made his hair appear golden.

"Morning," Clary called out, her voice leaving an echo. Jace's head turned, and a smile tugged on his lips, leaving no trace of that previous perturbed expression.

He caught the swinging punching bag mid-swing. "Morning,"

"Are you okay?" She asked, ambling her way over.

"Fine, why?"

"You seem a little tense."

"Tense?" He shook his head. "Nah."

"And you disappeared from the party last night. Which is definitely not like you."

"I was just tired." Jace stole a cautious glance toward the training room entrance then looked back at her, lowering his voice. "Resurrection takes a lot out of a guy."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better," he told her. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"How's your head?"

_Here we go._

"I'm fine. My head's a lot better actually, it was starting to flare up toward the end of the night but I feel fine this morning."

He didn't look convinced. "You look a little pale."

Clary rolled her eyes. "I'm a redhead, Jace. I'm always pale."

"Paler than usual, I mean," he explained. "Seriously, you're competing with Simon right now." He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She pushed it hand gently away.

"I just need to eat something."

"Wanna grab some breakfast? The dining hall should be quiet at this time."

"Sure," she agreed, hoping some food might settle her churning stomach. Jace smiled in response and stepped forward to kiss her on the forehead.

Clary pulled back, pressing a finger to his chin. "You're all sweaty."

He paused, and a sheepish smirk stretched across his face. "Hey, I didn't hear you complaining the last time you saw me this sweaty."

Clary punched him in the arm, a blush staining her cheeks. "That may be true, but I can't say I'm digging the new uh...aroma you're giving off."

Jace turned his face toward his underarm and his grin disappeared. "Right. I'll uh, get right on that. Meet me in the dining hall?"

Clary gave a nod.

With a playful military salute, Jace swiveled on his heel, and as Clary watched him walk away, her smile melted off her lips. A strong fear had just hit her, a fear brought on by his mention of their night together several weeks ago. It caught her so off guard that she had to sit down on one of the benches. She retrieved her phone from her pocket, scrolling hastily through the many icons in search of the little calendar. Sure enough, her heart stuttered at the sight of the missed days.

She remembered to breathe, reminding herself that irregularity wasn't exactly a new thing. Especially when she was stressed, and these past few weeks had proven to be nothing but.

She didn’t want to think of the alternative reason.

"You're still here." Clary startled, fumbling to switch off her phone. Jace walked up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "By the angel, Clary. Are you sure you're feeling okay? You really don't look well."

She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there, stewing in her own paranoid thoughts. She figured it must have been quite a while because Jace seemed to have appeared just as quickly as he'd left, only this time in jeans and his second favorite leather jacket (he'd given his best one to a homeless guy) and though slightly damp, his undercut hair was now pristine.

She tried to smile, nodding as she got up from the bench. "I'm okay, I just zoned out a little," she told him. "Let's go."

She took off quickly in the direction of the dining room. Jace hung back a moment, watching her with suspicion before falling back into step with her.

Clary struggled to choke down her toast and keep her mind from wandering away from their conversation and onto that night—when the emotions had been running so mind-numbingly high that she couldn't recall whether or not she had taken her pill that following morning.

"So, are you looking forward to your rune ceremony? You'll finally be a fully-fledged Shadowhunter." Jace put to her, grinning. 

She was just being paranoid, Clary decided. After all, she had been taking the contraceptive since she was sixteen—only then it was to alleviate her painful cycles. She had never missed a day. Ever.

"Clary?"

The sound of his voice calling her name with that mix of confusion and concern was enough to make her blink herself out of her stupor. "Mm? Oh, right. The Rune Ceremony, yeah I can't wait."

Jace's mismatched eyes were soft with concern. "Maybe you should get some more rest."

"Can't. I'm on assignment with Izzy this morning, anyway." She brought her cup of coffee to her lips. "I'll be fine after this."

"You sure?"

She hummed in affirmation.

"Coffee is not a concussion cure, you know."

Clary shrugged. "I know, but it's the next best thing.

* * *


	2. Consequences

Chapter Two

Consequences

### ➰

"Ooh sounds like we've got a Vetis on our hands," said Isabelle, reading through the report on her phone as she and Clary boarded the subway. "Face-planting into the road, unexplained claw marks, and missing jewelry. Could be wrong though. What do you think?"

Clary looked back at her friend, tearing her gaze away from the baby who was smiling gummily at her from her mom's lap. They grabbed ahold of the pole in front of them as the subway rolled into motion. "Yeah, definitely sounds like a Vetis," Clary replied, absently.

They were lizard-like creatures. Scaly, black and elongated with only a mouth on its otherwise blank face. They liked to crawl into tight spaces and horde anything that has a shine to it. The good thing was that they were relatively dumb and easy to deal with, driven solely by their need to steal and store shiny things, from common junk to valuable jewelry, it was all the same to them.

"Hey, don't look so worried. You've dealt with the little jerks before, they're easy peasy." Isabelle assured her, acknowledging the tense look on the redhead's face.

"I'm not worried."

Isabelle narrowed her dark eyes at her. "Then what is it? Something with Jace?"

_In a way._

"No, of course not. What makes you ask that?"

She shrugged. "You both seem a little distant today. Not to mention he just took off from the party last night. Did you get into a fight already? You've barely been back together five minutes."

"We haven't. Jace and I couldn't be in a more perfect place. It's just..."

"Just what?" Isabelle prompted, expectantly.

For a fleeting moment, Clary was tempted to tell Isabelle about the fear spinning around in her mind but thought the better of it. There was a time and a place to blurt out something like that. And just before a mission on a busy subway train was not it. Besides, what if she was getting herself all worked up over nothing? It was just three days and the morning's previous nausea had now subsided. Still, she made a mental note to buy a test as soon as she got the chance.

"Nothing. It's just one of those days."

"Are you sure? Because you can tell me anything, you know."

"Thanks, Iz," Clary told her, gratefully. "I'm sure."

Isabelle nodded, her attention turning to a screaming baby in the arms of an exhausted-looking woman. Isabelle bent to pick up the teddy bear she had just dropped and handed it back to the child's mom who thanked her with a tired smile.

"Isn't she adorable?" Isabelle said to Clary, smiling at the little girl in awe. "I remember when Max was that small...and loud."

Clary glanced briefly at the crying baby, feeling grateful that they were almost at their destination. 

"How is Max? I heard he went back to the Academy," she asked, eager to divert the conversation.

"Yeah, he's doing okay actually. He's convinced that he's completely healed but he's still not a hundred percent. I know Mom had a hard time letting him go back but I think he was starting to miss his friends. He wrote to us last week though and apparently, all his classmates want to hear about his encounter with, well, you know. He said he doesn't mind the new attention but wishes it didn't cut into the free-time he usually spends reading his comic books."

Clary smiled. "Of course he does."

Max had been through a rocky recovery. After sustaining what the Medics back in Idris classed as a grade three concussion he'd had a hard time getting back on his feet in the wake of nosebleeds and migraines.

When Isabelle had told her, it had been yet another blow to Clary's guilty conscience. A part of her resented Jonathan. And part of her couldn't help but feel sad for the person who could have been had Valentine not corrupted him before his life had even begun.

Together they'd destroyed lives in a seemingly endless cycle, evading justice for so long. But after three long years, that cycle was finally broken; and it was time for Clary to accept that she couldn't undo the damage her father and brother had caused, as difficult as it was.

Several stops later, the subway rolled into Penn Station and a mischievous grin stretched across Isabelle's matte-red lips as the doors slid open. "That's us. Time to kick some Vetis ass...and maybe get a bracelet or two out of it."

Clary and Isabelle swiftly activated their glamor runes as they turned the corner, baffling a businessman who, upon reaching the corner himself found that the two girls had vanished. The confused man blinked in puzzlement then glanced back at the crowd of approaching commuters to see if anybody else saw it. Nobody had. He looked down accusingly at his cup of coffee before tossing it in a nearby trashcan.

Invisible, the girls climbed the stairs leading up onto 34th Street, and naturally, the mundanes around them steered obliviously clear of the two Shadowhunters as the repelling effect of the glamor took effect.

"It's probably nesting in a storm drain," predicted Isabelle. "They do love their storm drains...and sewers. God, I hope it's not a sewer."

Clary grimaced. "You and me both."

Fortunately, the tracker on Isabelle's phone led them straight to a storm drain. They stopped at the cornered off section of the road and Clary drew an audible rune on the back of her hand, keeping her eyes trained on the gap where the demons dwelled. She concentrated hard, and soon enough, the hubbub of the city muted until the only sounds she could hear were coming from the storm drain. High pitched noises, similar to squealing piglets except a lot more unpleasant, attacked her ears. Wincing in discomfort, Clary quickly deactivated the rune on and the welcomed sounds of the city returned to her.

"From what I could gather, there's at least three down there."

"Okay," began Izzy as she studied the narrow slit in the edge of the sidewalk and uncurled her whip from around her wrist. "I'm throwing the Witchlight in, on three."

In response, Clary slid her seraph blade from her belt and twisted it around her fingers, feeling the pulsing thrum of the Adamas.

"Ready?" asked Isabelle, receiving an affirmative nod from her partner. The Witchlight stone glowed through the cracks of her fingers.

"One, two, _three_."

Isabelle tossed it into the drain, and like a bucket of water hitting hot coals, the Vetis demons hissed shrilly. One by one, they squeezed frantically through the gap. Gnashing their rows of razor-sharp teeth and scuttling straight toward them. One leaped at Clary, but it lost its head before it could attack in a single swipe of her blade and both ends of the demon hit the ground with a wet slap, before burning up and vaporizing.

"Clary, on your six!" Isabelle exclaimed as she wrestled with a screeching Vetis on the end of her whip, she stomped on its back, holding it in place. And in the flicking motion of her wrist, the whip became a spear; she drove it forcefully through its neck.

Clary spun around just as the third began to scuttle right for her, bringing down her sword with a grunt. It dodged the blow and skidded away from the blade on its eel-like legs. She swore and brought the seraph down again, sloppily this time in her panic. She missed once again, but before it could lunge, Isabelle, was there. Impaling it through the wings with the end of her spear. The demon gave a piercing shriek, writhing on the sharp point before going limp and vanishing.

After taking a moment to catch her breath, Isabelle gave another flick of her wrist, transforming the spear back into her whip.

The girls relished in the absence of the demonic screeching, and, sighing in accomplishment, Isabelle flicked the tar-like ichor off her spear before asking Clary, as if they were chatting over lunch, "So I was wondering, I still need to pick out a dress for your rune ceremony tomorrow? I was thinking we could go look at some if you're down?"

Clary hadn't heard her.

After three years of slaying demons, Clary considered herself accustomed to the unpleasant smell of ichor. Except now her experience seemed to have gone straight out the window. It was as strong as the night she first smelled it; pungent and suffocating. It sent a monstrous wave of nausea over her and the seraph blade in her hand went clattering to the ground.

She fled, desperate to get away from the stench.

"Clary!" Isabelle called out in surprise, curling her whip around her arm. She bent to pick up Clary's discarded weapon and rushed after her, frowning when she found her slumped over a trashcan. Arriving at her side, Isabelle wasted no time pulling the curtain of loose red curls away from Clary's face.

"Are you okay?" Asked Isabelle as Clary moved away from the trash with a shiver.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Must've been last night's champagne coming back to haunt me," she lied, hiding her embarrassment.

Isabelle handed the seraph blade back to her and the redhead held her breath so as not to get another whiff of the substance. "Thanks," she told her, breathlessly, quickly sliding it back into the sheath at her hip.

"In that case, we'd better get you home. I'll make you one of my special smoothies, it'll cure your lightweight-itis in no time."

Clary ignored her friend's light teasing and checked the time on her phone, though only for the purpose of illusion. "You know what? I just remembered, I uh, told Luke I'd meet up with him at nine."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You just spilled your guts in a dirty trashcan."

"I know, but I feel a lot better now. See you later, Iz!"

The smile vanished from her lips as she turned and walked off in search of the nearest drugstore, leaving Isabelle staring after her, thrown.

This was going to drive her crazy. She had to know, and she had to know now.  
  
  
  


### ➰

  
  
Jace was sure he was losing it.

He was working in the library, buried in all the mission reports he'd fallen behind on when he saw the intruder. His head snapped up instinctively from the laptop and his eyes landed on the stranger who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He was leaning nonchalantly against one of the bookshelves, arms folded tightly across his chest, his smile curving like a scythe.

Jace jumped from his seat, his indrawn breath as sharp as the blade he tore from his belt.

Somehow, his face was eerily familiar, but he couldn't quite work out where he knew it from. He was tall, with hollow cheeks and low eyebrows. Jace wasn't sure what it was about the guy that unnerved him more, the fact that he had just appeared out of nowhere—or that somehow, despite never laying eyes on this man in his life, he recognized him.

"Who are you?" Jace demanded, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny while his mind groped for a rational explanation. "How did you get in here?"

The stranger's tone was venomous. "Oh, don't worry about how I got in. Worry about how you're gonna get me out." He moved away from the book-shelf and approached the table, leaning against the polished mahogany on his knuckles, his eyes boring into him. Jace tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword.

"You'll pay for everything, Herondale. Believe me. Your world will _burn_."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jace asked, unsettled.

But in the blink of an eye, the auburn-haired stranger was gone. Jace reeled, plopping back down into his seat and running his hands across his face.

He couldn't get his head around it. He hadn't used a portal, he'd just appeared out of thin air, and disappeared just as quickly.

_That's because he was never even there in the first place._ Jace realized, aghast.

Jace braced his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands as he struggled to comprehend what had just occurred. He couldn't help but think back to what he'd told Clary by the lakeside. That bringing someone back from death always came with a price.

Was this _his_ price? To slowly slip into insanity? Was this hallucination connected to the pain that had gripped him at Hunter's Moon?

Cold dread washed over him.

There was a knock at the door. Jace startled. Springing up from the chair once again and pulling his seraph blade from his belt.

Alec entered the room, throwing his hands up when he saw his brother braced for an attack.

"Woah, what are you doing?"

Jace apologized, letting down his paranoid guard at once. He returned his seraph blade to his belt.

Alec studied him, alarmed. "Are we just going to ignore the fact that you were about to ram your sword through my chest?"

"I wasn't about to—" Jace sighed. "I thought I saw something through the window."

"You did?" He questioned, concerned.

"It was nothing, just my eyes playing tricks on me. What did you want me for?"

Alec regarded him suspiciously but didn't press. "One of the weapon compartments in the training room is jammed again. I'd deal with it myself but I need to be in a meeting in half an hour."

"Right, yeah sure, I'll fix it," Jace told him, brushing past his brother's shoulder to leave the room. Alec had not missed his strange demeanor, but he said nothing. Only observed him in silent concern as Jace strode down the hall.  
  


### ➰

  
  
Clary paced the length of her room with all the anxiousness of a caged panther.

She never thought she would ever be in this position. After all, being protected was not something she took lightly. The constant lectures she had gotten from her mom over the years had seen to that. But lately, her head had been all over the place what with chasing after fugitives from dawn to dusk. She had been so focused on the hunt that the small yet extremely important pills sitting at the back of her drawer had completely slipped her mind.

She cursed herself for it. How the hell was she able to remember the intricacy of every rune in the codex and more, but not how to swallow a damned pill?

If she wasn't so terrified, she might have laughed.

Clary's eyes flitted over to the digital clock on her nightstand.

_One minute to go..._

It'd been the night Jonathan died. She had been healing the last of Jace's cuts in the infirmary when she'd broken down. The fresh pain of losing her mother had mingled with the dreaded thought of what could have happened on that bridge had they not reached Jace in time. If they'd have been one second later.

Jace had wiped away her tears, numbed the pain with his lips. It had been enough to liberate all the feelings she had kept under lock and key for _so long_ as she returned the kiss, eagerly.

The next thing she knew, they were stumbling into the elevator. Jace had slammed her against the mirror, hard but not too hard, kissing her with a newfound urgency, as if they were making up for all the time they'd lost believing Valentine's cruel lies.

They'd burst into his room, and his hands had slid to her thighs, effortlessly hoisting her up, only ever tearing his lips away from hers to drop her onto the mattress.

"Where are you going?" She'd asked breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows and craning her neck, but she soon realized what he was doing not a moment later as he ran his stele across the door, working a silencing rune into the wood. He then crossed back over to the bed, his eyes aglitter with a want that made her heart stutter like a stone across water.

He tossed his stele aside and it landed on the floor with a clatter.

"I think you broke it," she'd told him, her chest heaving as he braced his hands either side of her head. She wrapped a leg over his hip, increasing the friction. Jace groaned low in his throat as all the blood rushed southward.

"Izzy'll fix it," he rushed out, his breathy words hot against her neck as his lips brushed feather-light across her iratze. Clary sighed, arching her back as her hand came to tangle in his hair.

_Splat._

Clary swore, dragged from her thoughts by a tube of black oil paint bursting beneath her shoe. She pulled off her boot and snatched up a rag from the ledge of her easel. Kneeling, she blotted at the stain but it was of no use. She would have to get some white vinegar on it. That was, of course– if she wasn't about to have a much bigger problem to worry about.

She checked back at the clock, her arm pausing its movements; the two minutes were up.

The stain on the rug was soon abandoned as she got to her feet, making a conscious effort to breathe as she looked over at the dresser where she'd placed the test. She approached it like she would a Greater Demon, slowly and shaking with the adrenaline rush.

_Now or never,_ Clary thought to herself before forcing herself to look down.

Her heart sank.  
  
  



	3. Mark Of The Angel

Chapter Three

Mark of the Angel

➰

Clary snatched up the test's packaging, her anxious eyes flitting across the small print.

It had to be a false positive. That was a thing, right?

_Wrong._

Her glimmer of hope was snuffed out instantly at the words ' _99.9% accuracy.'_

Her initial instinct was to call Jocelyn—a fleeting impulse that crept up on her whenever she was faced with a dilemma. Except now it was stronger than ever.

Clary definitely wasn't ready to be a mother. She was still trying to navigate her way around the Shadow World. The thought of being plunged into yet another world, the world of _motherhood,_ so soon terrified her.

Blinking back tears, Clary bit down anxiously on her thumb. She knew she ought to tell Jace, but the idea of it filled her with dread. What if he didn't want to be a father? Or worse yet, what if he _did?_

She was unsure which reaction was worse.

Clary moved to stand in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection for a while. Then, tentatively, she lifted the hem of her shirt and placed a cold hand against her rune scattered belly.

A rush of emotions surged through her.

First came the climbing ascent, fascination.

_There is a little life in here right now, half-me and half-Jace._

Soon after that came wonder. 

_  
What would that even look like?_

But a sheer drop destroyed all sentiment as she pictured herself growing to the size of a watermelon.

Could her body even find the room for a baby?

She yanked her shirt down.

The one thing she did know was that she had to get rid of this test. Throwing it in the trash was out of the question, so she tore the box into tiny, indecipherable pieces before sprinkling them on the coals to be burned later. Then she stuffed the test in an old pencil case, shoving it to the back of her wardrobe where it would stay.

_Out of sight, out of mind._

_If only that were true._

It was all she could think about for the next week leading up to the rune ceremony. An event she'd formerly been looking forward to, but now dreaded. She checked herself in the mirror every morning before missions, looking for the slightest change. Fortunately, there were none, bar the increasing nausea. And when the day of her rune ceremony arrived, she could rest assured that the majority of Alicante wouldn't notice anything.

When the morning of the ceremony arrived, Clary hurried down to the drawing-room in her ivory halter-neck dress. Returning late from patrol last night had been a bad idea. She hadn't felt like getting out of bed this morning, let alone attending a ceremony. Still, she forced herself to get up, feeling grateful to the power of make-up, which at least lent her the illusion of color in her cheeks.

She was too late for breakfast, not that she wanted to be even within three feet of the smell of cooking after her earlier vomiting session, so she grabbed herself a granola bar from one of the vending machines and devoured it on her way.

"There you are!" Exclaimed Isabelle as Clary entered the private room where the Lightwoods and Magnus were all gathered. Isabelle looked radiant in her dark purple maxi-dress. "We were starting to think you'd ditched your own rune ceremony."

Clary laughed like it hadn't been a thought to cross her mind when she'd been sitting with her head down the toilet.

"You look amazing, by the way," Isabelle commented, squeezing her arm.

"Thanks, Iz," Clary smiled, though 'amazing' was not an accurate description of how she felt.

"Morning, guys."

Clary turned to see Jace walking in, dressed in a formal gray suit, accented by a silver tie. His eyes swept her, an admiring smile on his lips. "You look beautiful."

He had that faraway look again, like his mind was somewhere else. She moved to stand beside him and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand.

"You don't look half bad yourself." She told him, waiting for a smug remark that never came. Instead, he gave her a distant smile.

"Everybody ready to go?' Asked Magnus.

"Yep. Thanks again, Magnus," Alec told his boyfriend.

The Warlock smiled affectionately at him before getting to work. Soon his flourishing hand motions had conjured a swirling portal. They stepped through in single file, with Clary at the rear. Just as she was about to step through, however, Magnus put his hand out.

"Ah, Clary?"

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted you to know that if I was permitted to enter Idris, I would absolutely be there to celebrate with you," Magnus told her, sincerely. "I know Jocelyn would be immensely proud of you, biscuit. You've come a long way."

Clary's eyes softened, and she felt a pang of sadness. Some Downworlders were given special permission to attend events and council meetings. But after the alliance he'd made with the Seelie Queen, there was no chance of that. So instead, Magnus had offered to show his support by being the one to portal them to Alicante. Clary was grateful for it. She wouldn't have had the energy to do it herself.

She gave him a knowing smile. "Thank you, Magnus."

He motioned his head toward the portal opening. "Now, get gone. My arms are getting tired."

Clary chuckled lightly and the room around her bent and distorted as she let the portal carry her away.  
  
  
  


➰

  
During her previous visits to the country, Clary hadn't been able to fully appreciate the beauty of Idris. Now as she stood in the heart of Alicante, upon cobbled stones which paved the streets, she could finally do so. The capital city of Idris was breathtakingly beautiful with its elegant sandstone buildings and overall tranquil atmosphere. No doubt a stark contrast to noisy New York. There was not a vehicle in sight, and the only means of transportation was by your own two legs or a horse.

Alec flagged down a coachman, and they all piled onto the cushy seats. As the horse trotted through the city, Clary observed the town life with wonder, admiring the cute little coffee shops and book stores and the busy market where two old ladies were selling fruits and vegetables.

It was like stepping back in time.

One thing that struck her about the locals was the lack of gear they wore. Though most were clad in traditional Nephilim black, she didn't see many carrying weapons on their person.

"There's not really much need," Jace explained when she asked him about it. "Idris is one of the safest countries in the world when it comes to demon protection. The towers reinforce wards that keep them locked out."

In the distance, the aforementioned demon towers stretched up toward the russet sky, surrounding the city. Clary sheltered her eyes from the sun, taking in their beauty. They were constructed of pure Adamas, which would change various colors to warn the city of various situations, good or bad.

"Then how come there aren't demon towers in every country?" She asked.

"The bigger the country, the weaker the wards," Isabelle answered. "Not to mention, Adamas doesn't come cheap."

Clary smiled, observing the little differences with admiration. People stood chatting in the quiet street, something you just couldn't do in New York without getting shoved or verbally abused. Neither would you see tiny children playing unaccompanied.

One of the kids spotted their carriage going by and pointed, dropping her skipping rope and tapping her friend on the shoulder. The next thing Clary knew, her name was being yelled, and they were being chased along the street.

"Looks like you've got yourself some admirers," said Isabelle, nudging Clary's arm.

The children yelled over the top of one another, each one vying for the loudest voice as they plied her with compliments and questions that Clary wasn't given time to answer before the next one was hurled at her. The children ran alongside the carriage.

"What did the angel Raziel look like, miss?"

"Yeah, is he really ten-feet tall?"

Clary tried to answer as many questions as she could, conversing with them amiably until their little legs grew tired.

"That was weird," said Clary as the carriage left the children behind. "Cute, but weird."

"It's about to get weirder," said Alec. "Look."

Clary deadpanned. 

A crowd was starting to accumulate. People were spilling out of their quaint stone-built houses to get a good look at them, cheering and waving. And while Clary reluctantly waved back, not wanting to appear rude. Izzy fixed her posture and flipped her hair, waving like a regal princess.

Alec rolled his eyes. "Enjoying yourself, Iz?"

"Very much so." She confirmed, through a fixed grin.

Jace laughed musically.

"What is happening?" Clary asked in bafflement.

"Looks like they've made us celebrities now," Jace observed. He held his hand up in more of a masculine kind of way. Alec looked between his basking siblings, shaking his head.

"Great," Clary remarked, completely overwhelmed.

The crowds seemed to go on and on, lining the streets all the way to the gates of the Accords Hall, the only thing that could distract Clary from them was the beauty of the famous Accords Hall, where all important Clave meetings and events took place.

It was beautiful.

Saffron tapestries decorated the stunning pillared building not dissimilar to that of a vast Greek villa. In the grounds, topiaries cut into angelic runes surrounded a fountain depicting what she assumed to be the angel Raziel rising from the lake. He hadn't resembled anything like that when he'd appeared to her that fateful night. He had been so blindingly bright that she could barely see him at all.

Jace offered Clary a hand down from the carriage and Alec offered the same to Isabelle, but she pushed his hand away and jumped down unaided. Mounted Guards in white and gold uniforms were keeping the crowds contained behind the barriers–Yes, they'd actually put up _barriers,_ while twostanding guards opened the large gates.

The crowd cheered as they made their way along the path and into the immense grounds with Alec and Isabelle at the rear. Jace and Isabelle marveled at the attention. While, in contrast, Clary and Alec couldn't wait to get inside.

The guests were still yet to arrive but Imogen was there to greet them. She met them in the foyer, a spacious area with a grand staircase and white marble throughout. "Welcome to the Accords Hall," she smiled. Then she ushered them into a room with a large polished mahogany table, ornate chairs and standing in each corner were statues of angels in various different poses.

"Thanks again Imogen for organizing this. It's really thoughtful," said Clary as they all took seats around the table. "But I had no idea that so many people would be interested."

"Why wouldn't they be interested? Countless families in Idris have suffered in the name of Valentine Morgenstern as well as the Circle, and you brought them closure. You deserve a great rune ceremony, Miss Fairchild," replied Imogen, graciously before placing her attention on the group as a whole. "We've still got an hour before the bells chime so can I get you some refreshment in the meantime?" She offered. Before anybody could answer, however, Imogen had already decided for them. "I'll bring some in anyway, and you can take what you like."

As she left them at the table, Isabelle said, "you know, I've never seen her act so cheery in my life... it's unsettling."

Alec agreed, "ever since it came out that Jace is her grandson, it's like she's grown a new personality."

"It's funny how, out of the three of us, Imogen complained about you the most. You were always handling weapons in a 'dangerous manner' or 'running about the place like a wild animal'. Now she thinks butter-wouldn't-melt in your mouth. You've transformed her," said Isabelle.

Jace sat back comfortably in his chair and folded his arms across his chest "It's great that she's happier now, and I was wrong to pass judgment on her."

When Imogen returned a few moments later, she was carrying a silver tray and a matching antique teapot, along with a selection of different cookies. "Here are some biscottis I picked up in Italy during my visit to the Rome Institute. Honey and almond, chocolate and hazelnut, and gingerbread."

The Inquisitor placed the refreshments down in the center of the table. "I'll be right back, I'm just going to grab some teacups for the tea."

At the sight of the biscotti selection, Clary's mouth began to flood. She loved biscottis. Her eyes practically rolled back into her head as she bit into it. "Oh, these are so good."

Jace chuckled and took one for himself. Clary finished hers in record time and immediately reached for a second.

The three siblings exchanged side-glances.

"What?" She asked them, her voice muffled.

"Slow down," Jace told her. "You'll choke."

"I can't help it, they're delicious."

Imogen picked up on this as she re-entered the room and said, "make sure to leave some room for the afterparty." She set china teacups down in front of the four Shadowhunters and beginning with Jace, started pouring the tea.

Clary swallowed. "Afterparty?"

"Of course," affirmed Imogen. "There's going to be a buffet and a magnificent ice sculpture."

"Oh, Imogen, thank you, but you didn't have to do all that."

"Nonsense, of course I did," she argued taking a seat at the end of the table and pouring herself a cup. "There's nobody more deserving of a great rune ceremony, than you, Clary. Not only did you defeat the monster who destroyed my family, but you also seem to make my grandson happy. That means your part of my family now too." She looked over to Jace, who smiled softly back at her.

They conversed for a little while longer, finishing their tea and biscottis. It wasn't long before the bells at the top of the hall tolled for ten o'clock, and as the guests flooded into the courtyard, Clary went over the vows in her head and tried to calm her nerves.

On the top tier of the hall, at the end of a red velvet carpet which stretched out into the pillared courtyard, Imogen and Brother Jeremiah stood before the cluster of guests, most of them were acquaintances of the Lightwoods and members of the Clave. Clary listened from inside the hall as Imogen began to speak.

"Brothers and sisters," she began, and their chatter died down to silence. "I welcome you all on this sacred day to witness the confirmation of Clarissa Adele Fairchild into our ranks as a certified soldier. Miss Fairchild, if you would like to come forward."

She ambled along the carpet, holding her chin up despite the discomfort of so many eyes on her. When she reached Imogen and brother Jeremiah, Clary turned to face the guests.

_Don't butcher this up._ She thought, inwardly.

"I stand before my fellow Shadowhunters, to receive the rune of the angel. I take this mark to honor him, to bring his light into me. To join the ranks of the Shadowhunters, the guardians of peace." She announced, relieved for the most daunting part to be over, and that she hadn't stumbled over her words.

She offered out her wrist to brother Jeremiah and the familiar burning sensation prickled against her skin. When the Silent Brother withdrew the stele, her long-awaited angelic rune decorated the previously blank skin, the rune that marked her as a Shadowhunter. It symbolized two years of literal blood sweat and tears and the countless times she had slipped, tripped, and had her ass _kicked._

A sense of fulfillment rushed through her.

"This mark of angelic power is well deserved, and long overdue," said Imogen. "You are no longer a Shadowhunter in training. Valentine Morgenstern may have used the Mortal Instruments to raise the angel Raziel, but you prevented a wish from being granted, a wish that may have had catastrophic consequences. Clarissa Fairchild, may your heroism be a shining example to Shadowhunters across the world. Congratulations."

Applause filled the courtyard and Clary smiled in timid accomplishment. Her eyes finding Jace in the crowd. He winked at her as he clapped, his smile as warm as the newly-risen sun.

As of now, she was a fully recognized Shadowhunter.


	4. To Love Is to Protect

Chapter Four

To Love Is to Protect

➰

Jace's hand closed around the Herondale ring at his throat.

Unlike the dead at the Cemetery of the Fallen or those that rested down in the City of Bones, Stephen and Céline's graves bore no birth dates, death dates, or honoring quotes; they were just two askew headstones displaying only their names. But Jace supposed they could be in much worse condition if the neglected headstones around him were anything to judge by.

Eroded by the elements and the harshness of time—these were the final resting places of circle members whose families were either dead and buried with them, or alive and too ashamed of their crimes to care about the condition of their headstones; Jace had Imogen to thank for taking such good care of Stephen and Céline over the years.

Among the overgrown foliage, Jace spied Michael Wayland's name. The man he'd spent his whole life believing to be his father, whose face he could see with such clarity looking down at him in surprise as a seven-year-old Jace— beaming with achievement—held up his pet falcon, which was perched on his gloved hand, its head bobbing jerkily.

"Dad, I trained Goldie! He came back to me!" Jace beamed.

In his excitement, Jace had forgotten that his father didn't like to be disturbed while he was working. Fortunately, he hadn't scolded him. Michael looked up from his desk and pushing his reading glasses up onto his head. He held up his arm to receive the bird, looking at Jace expectantly.

"Prove it."

He was practically vibrating with excitement as he walked to the other side of the study and tried to encourage the bird by nudging his arm upwards. The Falcon flapped his wings to steady himself, but no amount of gentle persuasion could convince him to go anywhere near the man.

" _Please_ , Goldie," Jace had begged, growing more and more unnerved the longer he protested. "Fly to dad, just like you did to me."

Goldie stayed put.

Jace still remembered the spark of rage that'd erupted in Michael's eyes. The shrill sound his chair had made as it scraped roughly back against the hardwood floor. Michael stormed over to him and ripped the screeching falcon off Jace's glove. Goldie writhed in his grip, squawking in protest.

"No!"

Michael twisted and the squeaking stopped abruptly. Goldie dropped onto the floor with a thud.

Jace stared, horrified.

"My instruction was to make it obedient, was it not?!" Michael had exploded. "You taught the thing to love you!"

He knelt to Jace's level and took his shocked little face in his hands. From the outside looking in, he might have looked like a caring father comforting his upset son. "Soldiers don't cry," he reminded him. "You've just learned a very valuable lesson, son. Know what that is?"

Jace shook his head, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. He didn't want what happened to Goldie to happen to him.

"To love is to destroy," he said, bitterly. "And to _be_ loved is to be the one destroyed. Understand?"

Jace nodded vigorously.

"Good." Michael released his lips and rose to his feet. "I hope you're faster at digging than you are at learning. It'll get dark out soon, and I won't be letting you back inside until that bird is buried."

Jace shivered at the memory.

He had never actually met the _real_ Michael Wayland, Valentine had murdered him and then robbed him of his identity. Jace was sure that the true Micheal was never as heartless as Valentine. Out of respect, Jace pulled away some of the ivy around Michael's headstone, tidying it up the best he could. That done, he turned back to his real parents.

Stephen had been killed during a raid, and Céline died not long after being given the news, committing suicide with Jace still inside her womb.

Jace knew she must have been heartbroken to make such a drastic choice. However, his father's murder may not have been the only thing to drove her to end her life. Céline had also suffered from a mental illness that caused delusions and hallucinations.

It was now a fact that haunted him, prompting him to wonder if what he had seen in the Institute's library was the beginning of his mother's illness. He had never experienced issues with his own mental health in the past, but what if being brought back to life had set it off? His brain _had_ , after all, been re-started. Perhaps, in the process, it had activated something that had previously lain dormant?

He tried to reassure himself that even if it was the case, and there were treatments he could pursue to manage it. And it was better than the alternative explanation; that it was some kind of side-effect that was linked to the wish, dooming him to the slow onset of insanity.

"Hey."

  
Jace briefly turned to see Clary approaching him—holding up the skirt of her dress to avoid tripping on the overgrowth.

The muscles in his jaw stopped tensing, as she pulled him from his thoughts. "Does it make me a bad person?" He asked, without looking away from the graves.

Clary blinked, thrown. "Does what make you a bad person?"

"They were my parents. But I don't feel anything for them, I just feel numb when I look at their graves..."

"Feeling numb is an emotion. It doesn't mean you care any less," she reassured him, linking her arm up with his. "I know it's a different circumstance but if its any consolation, I felt numb too after I lost my mom...Besides, they died before you were born, and then you were raised to believe you were someone else. It's only natural. But you care. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Jace gave her an affirmed nod, his smile a brief glimmer.

A shrill chirp sounded nearby and Clary followed it to a tree, where a colorful finch hopped from branch to branch. She watched it for a moment as she mulled over telling him. Then she decided that if she could get him to open up to her, it would make it easier for her to do the same.

"Jace?"

"Yeah."

"You trust me, right?"

Jace looked at her meaningfully and took her hand. "Absolutely."

"Then you'd tell me if something was bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me."

She gave him a pressing look until at last, he relented. "Fine, you win. How could you tell?"

"You were the one who taught me, remember? Pay attention to the details."

But Jace didn't share her reminiscent smile. He looked perturbed. "I saw something."

Clary stared, nonplussed. "What?"

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for how crazy he was about to sound. "I saw something in the library yesterday. But it wasn't actually there. I was hallucinating."

Clary breathed out heavily, her expression grave. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I just did."

"I meant _sooner_." She met his eyes suddenly, growing pale. "...You don't think it has anything to do with the wish I made?"

He couldn't bring himself to say yes, but he couldn't say no either. Instead, he shrugged.

"Jace, you need to tell someone about this. About everything. A Warlock...or, or a Silent Brother."

"No, I already told you." He looked at her, his gaze steady and serious. "We can't tell _a soul_ about the wish."

Clary's eyebrows knitted together. "But why not?"

"Compelling a wish from the Angel can only happen _once_." He explained. "If the Clave ever found out what happened, they'd lock you in the Gard for the rest of your life. Or worse."

That same Stubbornness that Jace usually found endearing flashed across her features, only this time it struck him with nothing but unease. "But what if whatever you're going through gets worse? You can't just ignore it, _please-"_

"I said _no_ , Clary!"

It wasn't exactly a snap, but it was enough to make her flinch. Jace glanced cautiously around and though he lowered his voice, the sharpness in his tone remained.

"When I say they would lock you up for the rest of your life, I mean it. They could even give you a death sentence. Alec too if they found out he was withholding information. Do you have any idea what losing either of you would do to me? That wish would've been granted in vain then."

Her heart tightened at the last part. "Jace..."

"We really can't risk _anyone_ finding out. I'm serious Clary. It's better for everyone if we just pretend it never happened."

His head felt clearer now that he was in Idris. Maybe these weird symptoms were not permanent and he just needed a break from New York, a change of scenery.

Clary relented. Nodding in silent agreement as she leaned toward him. He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "We should get head back to the party."

How was she supposed to tell him she was pregnant now? He already had enough to deal with without this bombshell being dropped on him too.  
  
  


➰

  
  
  
  
"Jace!" Max exclaimed the moment he caught sight of his brother. He sprinted across the hall.

"Hey Max," Jace grinned, releasing Clary's hand to ruffle his little brother's hair. "I didn't know you were coming. I thought you were at the Academy?"

"I get weekends off, _duh_ ," he explained, quickly, smoothing his hair back down. "You guys have _got_ to try the chocolate fountain, it's _huge_!" He took both their hands and led them over to the large buffet table where a sizeable fountain spilling over with sheets of molten chocolate stood, at least five feet tall. The ice sculpture Imogen had mentioned was displayed on a podium in the middle of the hall, a giant icy angelic rune, apparently charmed by a Warlock to keep it frozen all day.

Max and Jace helped themselves to the rainbow of fruit, smothering them in the flowing chocolate, while Clary was swept up in conversation with the guests, most of whom she'd never met before. One of them being an Asian lady in a red maxi dress, her friendly smile was a huge contrast to the expression of the girl who followed at her heels. Clary assumed that she was her daughter, judging by their shared resemblance.

"Aline! I haven't seen you for months, I've missed you!" Isabelle called out from behind, and Clary turned to see them colliding into a hug.

"I've missed you too," said Aline, squeezing her tight.

When they broke away Izzy nodded courteously at Consul Penhallow, her smile fading. "Consul Penhallow."

"Hello Isabelle," she greeted, then shifted her gaze to Clary. "Miss Fairchild, I don't believe we've been acquainted before. I'm the Consul, Jia Penhallow. And this is Aline, my daughter."

It finally clicked in her head. The Penhallows and the Verlac's have a family connection—Aline was Sebastian's cousin.

"It's great to meet you both," Clary replied, despite her foreboding.

"Likewise," Jia replied. "You know, your mother and I were once good friends. When I heard what happened to her, I was devastated," she looked to Isabelle. "And for Alexander too, I can't imagine how he must have felt."

"He felt terrible," Isabelle answered. "It really crushed him."

"I'm sure," said Jia.

"It's just horrible, isn't it? Losing someone close to you," Aline piped up, eyes trained on Clary and her words dripping with scorn. "Especially when that said someone was tied up for months, tortured and then _murdered_."

" _Aline_." Warned Jia.

As a Shadowhunter, you learned to de-sensitise yourself to scenes of death and gore, but the image of the blackened, tormented body of Sebastian Verlac was burned into Clary's memory. Now it came back to her, vivid and painful as ever—and her guilt rendered her speechless.

Fortunately, Isabelle swooped in to defend her. " _Hey_ , I'm not sure what you're insinuating, but what Jonathan did to Sebastian had nothing to do with Clary."

Clary swallowed the lump in her throat, growing increasingly claustrophobic. "Sorry, could you excuse me? I...I need some air," she dismissed herself, turning on her heel and making a beeline for the exit.

She slipped out of the hall and into a large, corridor. When the door shut behind her, the silence was music to ears and Clary collapsed down onto a nearby chaise longue, placing her head in her hands, and focusing on her breathing.

The door opened and Clary abruptly straightened but was relieved to see Isabelle. She joined her in the quiet hallway. Their only company, the marble statues which were built into niches along the walls.

"Don't let her get to you, Clary. Aline is just grieving and looking for someone to blame," she told her, sitting down beside her friend, her glass of champagne resting in her hand.

"It's not just that. It's–" Clary cut herself short, lowering her gaze.

Isabelle's neatly-waxed eyebrows bumped together in concern. She reached for Clary's hand and squeezed, reassuringly.

"What is it?" she encouraged, gently. "You can trust me."

Clary hesitated a moment before relenting. She didn't have the strength to carry two heavy secrets at once. Her voice was strained and barely even audible, but eventually, she managed to utter the words that had gotten stuck in her throat.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on forever as Isabelle stared at her, trying to decide whether or not she'd misheard. But there were not many words in the English language that rhymed with 'pregnant'.

Isabelle blinked. "Did you just say you're...?"

Clary nodded, welling up. "I don't know what to do, Izzy."

And that was all the confirmation Isabelle needed. Her shocked expression didn't falter as she wrapped Clary up in a tight hug, whispering reassurances as she cried onto her shoulder.


	5. Enigma

Chapter Five

Enigma

➰

Isabelle cast one last glance out into the deserted hallway and closed the door to the meeting room, standing with her back pressed against it. Her eyes snapped to Clary, who had placed herself at the large mahogany meeting table, clutching her elbows nervously.

"I _knew_ something was going on with you!" Recollection flashed across her face. "When you puked in that trashcan, that wasn't a hangover..."

Clary shook her head, wiping away the remainder of her tears with her thumb. "I blamed it on the concussion. I never thought I was..." She paused, giving herself a moment. "It didn't click until I realized I was late."

A silence drifted over the girls until only the muffled sounds of the celebrations in the main hall could be heard. Isabelle took the seat beside Clary and the light streaming through the stained glass window caught the shimmer of the highlight on her cheekbone. "Sorry, It's just... a lot to process," she breathed, still in a daze of nonplus. "I'm guessing Jace doesn't know?"

"No," she replied. "And I can't tell him."

Isabelle frowned. "Why not?"

Clary lowered her gaze. This secret was having such a knock-on effect. She couldn't even tell Isabelle _why_ she couldn't tell Jace.

"If it's his reaction you're afraid of, don't be," Isabelle tried to reassure her. "He _loves_ you, Clary."

"I'm just not ready yet," she explained. "I'm still trying to make sense of it myself."

_And he doesn't need the added stress._

A weighted sigh escaped Isabelle. She looked uncertain, but after a moment, gave a nod. "It's your call. This is some pretty big news. But the longer you keep this to yourself, the harder it's going to be. I mean...no offense but you're tiny. I doubt it will be long before you start showing."

Clary winced.

At that Isabelle frowned, approaching her next question carefully. "How do you feel about it?"

Clary swallowed hard and gave a shrug. "Confused. Terrified. I've only just completed my training. I'm still working through the trauma of losing my mom. This is the last thing I want."

Isabelle nodded in understanding, though the look on her face was solemn.

Clary continued, "but at the same time, the idea of living the rest of my life wondering how it might have looked, who it might have become." She shook her head once. "I don't know if I could cope with that either. Then there's the question of Jace's feelings. What if he doesn't feel the same way?

"Clary," Isabelle began, gently. "You can 'what if' yourself into oblivion. But you _know_ Jace. I can't think of a single scenario where he wouldn't stand by your side." She offered her a reassuring smile. "And if he doesn't, I will personally kick his ass for him. This is just as much his fault as it is yours."

Clary dropped her gaze, feeling guilty. "Actually, that's not entirely true."

Isabelle didn't follow. "What do you mean?"

"I was on birth control," she explained, clearly frustrated with herself. "But like an idiot, I must have missed a day. This is all on me."

Isabelle shook her head vehemently, leaning forward in her seat and placing a hand on her knee. "Considering everything, it's a completely justifiable mistake," she told her, trying to deliver all the comfort she could. "There's nothing you can do about it now. What's done is done, so what's the point in beating yourself up over it?"

As Isabelle's wisdom worked its magic, it didn't take long for Clary to decide that she was right–as usual. It happened. She had been careless. Now she just had to hope that when she did eventually tell Jace, he wouldn't be too upset.

"I can tell you one thing, though" Isabelle spoke again, sincerity forming in her eyes. "I'm here for you, whatever you decide to do."

Clary’s smile was brief, like a glimpse of the sun behind dull clouds.

She would forever be grateful to have Isabelle as a friend. Whether it be for her expertise on winged eyeliner, slaying demons in heels, or in more difficult scenarios like this one, Isabelle was her number one confidant. 

”Thank you, Izzy, ” she replied. ”I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  
  
➰

  
  
  
  
After Clary had regained her composure, Isabelle fixed her smudged eye-makeup using the 'emergency supply' that she kept in her clutch.

That done, they slipped back into the throng of the venue.

Jace shifted his gaze beyond Patrick Greenlaw, and a wave of disconcertion washed over him as he studied the girls from across the hall, watching them converse with each other discreetly before paranoia got the better of him. They’d been gone for a suspicious amount of time.

He excused himself from the conversation and strode hastily over to Clary and Isabelle.

He tapped Clary gently on the arm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," she replied, frowning at his urgency as she followed him to a quiet corner of the hall. " _Please_ tell me you didn't just tell Isabelle?" He asked her, lowering his voice.

"What? _No._ She was checking up on me _," s_ he answered in half a whisper. "I felt a little lightheaded."

It wasn't necessarily a lie, she _had_ felt woozy and Isabelle _did_ follow her to make sure she was okay, but what Clary eventually confessed had nothing to do with the wish.

Jace accepted this, his gaze softening and his tense shoulders relaxing.

"I don't break my promises." She slid her hand into his, ignoring how clammy they were. "And frankly, I'm a little hurt that you thought I would. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, ” he told her, feeling guilty for doubting her. ”I’m sorry.”

A smile ghosted across her lips. "I'll let you off the hook," she decided. "But first, I need you to promise _me_ something. Promise that you'll let me know if you have another one of those hallucinations," she told him.

"I promise."

"And," she added. "that you'll go see a silent brother about it if they get any worse."

At that proposition, however, Jace was reluctant to comply. "Clary, we've been over this..."

"You don't have to tell them anything about the wish, just what's been happening to you."

Jace shook his head. "What I tell them won't matter if they start rifling through my memories. I'm sorry, but it's just not an option."

Before she could press him any further, he changed the subject. "Are you feeling better?"

She looked confused for a moment until she realized he was talking about her dizzy spell. "Yeah, it comes and goes."

Clary inwardly kicked herself, realizing immediately that she had said the wrong thing.

Jace looked concerned. "You've been having a lot of these 'dizzy spells' lately. Maybe that concussion was worse than the medics thought."

"It's only been a week. I'm sure it'll subside."

"Still, you should probably get checked out when we get back," he insisted.

"I will," she agreed, if only to soothe the concern on his face. But instead, a crease dipped between his brows.

"That's weird.."

"What?"

He lifted the hand he was holding, running his thumb across her skin as he inspected it. "Your rune..." He told her, perplexed. "It's set already."

She lowered her gaze to the fresh rune at her wrist and realized immediately what he was talking about.

When adding a new rune, activating an iratze to heal the area faster ran the risk of weakening its performance, so it was best to allow it to heal the mundane way which usually took a couple of days at the most. However, Clary's angelic rune was no longer red and raised as it had been a few hours ago.

Now, it had completely set.

She hadn't even noticed.

"Huh," she frowned. "That _is_ weird..."


End file.
